


where i want to be

by useyourtelescope



Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Paris (City), Pre-Relationship, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourtelescope/pseuds/useyourtelescope
Summary: When Penelope decided to treat herself to a trip abroad for her twenty-eighth birthday, she consulted Colin's travel blog to plan her itinerary. Considering they hadn't seen each other in months by the time the holiday arrived, she had believed that would be the extent of his involvement in her trip.But when they run into each other on her last afternoon abroad, they decide to spend it together.
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Comments: 33
Kudos: 418
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2020





	where i want to be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohtempora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/gifts), [Ljparis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljparis/gifts).



> This is an adaptation of the early part of the novel inspired by both ohtempora's suggestions of modern AU career options and LJparis' travelling prompt - I hope you enjoy the result!
> 
> Thank you to htbthomas for beta reading.

“Penelope? Is that you?”

Although these four words were uttered from a distance, they were sufficient for Penelope Featherington to recognise the voice calling to her, and the realisation gave her quite a start.

Not that she wasn’t happy to see the man; in fact, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would be sorry to see Colin Bridgerton. She had always been glad to see him even once the sight of his sparkling green eyes and chestnut hair had begun to create a painful yearning in her chest for something that she knew would never be, rather than the excited, hopeful pang she had felt on seeing him in her youth.

But it was rather unexpected and she was far from prepared. If they had been in London, seeing him would not have been wholly surprising even if it had been a long time since he’d had a permanent residence there. Colin had spent much of the last seven years travelling across the globe, though he always returned to London a few times a year to see his family, which contained some of her oldest and dearest friends. But for the week of her twenty-eighth birthday, Penelope had treated herself to her first trip outside the UK, and she had hardly expected to run into an old friend while she was trying to enjoy the finest patisserie Paris had to offer. 

It was the patisserie that made the encounter less pleasurable than it would have been otherwise, for Penelope had been biting into an eclair when he called out to her. 

The first mercifully undisturbed mouthful of the chocolate eclair had been pure pleasure. On the second mouthful, she heard Colin’s voice and promptly choked on pastry and cream.

She had only just finished coughing when Colin reached her; she was sitting on a bench in the Jardins Du Trocadéro, enjoying her pastries with an excellent view of the Eiffel Tower from across the Seine. The location had actually been a suggestion of Colin’s, though only indirectly; he documented his travels on his Instagram and when she had decided on her trip she had scrolled through to find his previous trips to Paris and had taken notes on the places he had posted about. 

Not that she had copied his itinerary, of course. There had been a time when Penelope would have jumped at the chance to follow in his footsteps, thinking it was romantic somehow, but she was far too sensible for that now. 

She would have liked to have proved this maturity by saying something very clever to the man who had unknowingly broken her heart many years ago. 

But as she regained her composure, she realised that she had squeezed on the remaining end of her eclair while she had been coughing, and the rest of the cream and fallen to the ground in a glob.

So, when she looked up into his eyes she said, “You owe me an eclair.”

He sent a sheepish grin her way before dropping into an exaggerated bow, and she was swiftly reminded of the trail of broken hearts he had left behind in London. “I beg your pardon, Miss Featherington.”

Despite herself, she giggled, wiping her hands before seeing to the mess with her thankfully large pile of napkins.

“I didn’t know you were in Paris,” he said, putting his hands into the pockets of his navy jacket as he leaned against the side of her bench.

“I could say the same to you. I saw your mother last week, she said you were going to Belgium next.”

“I was supposed to be,” he admitted. “But there was a problem at the hotel where I was going to be staying, and I took an offer to go to a new hotel in Paris instead.”

Colin hadn’t set out to become a travel blogger, it had just sort of happened. When he had first decided to travel, Colin had only even set up an Instagram at his sisters Hyacinth and Eloise’s requests, for they knew he would be terrible at keeping up with all of his family and this way they could follow his exploits with accompanying pictures. But since Colin was part of one of London’s elite families, his Instagram had immediately been followed by people in certain social circles, and once it emerged that he had a knack for documenting his holidays in an interesting way his Instagram following had grown. Eventually, travelling had become his source of income rather than something he was doing before he returned to the real world of business his eldest brother was employed in. His mother had mixed feelings about his success, proud of course that her son was doing well, but also disappointment that it further delayed his settling down. 

“What about yourself?” Colin asked. 

It was a simple question, but it reminded Penelope of why she had always liked Colin. She was very good at deflecting the conversation away from herself, and most people didn’t notice, since most people weren’t all that interested in the inner thoughts of Penelope Featherington. But Colin wouldn’t let her fade into the background. 

“I’m on holiday. My first time outside the UK,” she said, unable to hide her excitement. “It’s a treat to myself for my twenty-eighth.”

He looked initially pleased by her statement, though this soon mellowed. “By yourself?”

“As someone who has travelled all around the world by themselves I would think carefully about what you are about to say,” she cautioned, smoothing out the skirt of her green dress.

Chastised, he held up his hands. “I’m not saying anything against it, I just—you need to be careful.”

“Because little Penelope can’t take care of herself,” she said curtly, bristling at the reminder that he still only saw her as a child, nothing more than his little sister’s best friend.

“Of course I don’t think that.” He must have noticed she wasn’t appeased because he continued in an almost pleading tone, “Penelope, I know very well that you can take care of yourself. But like you said, it’s your first time abroad, there’s just things you get used to doing as a seasoned traveller that you might not think of.”

She melted a little, just as much from the soft look in his eyes than his words. “I’m being careful. I’ve done a lot of research,” she said, not telling him that some of that had been via his Instagram. 

He accepted this, and they discussed their respective trips, discovering that as Penelope was nearly at the end of her seven-day trip and Colin had only arrived that morning for a two-night stay, they would be in the same city for just over a day.

“What have you got planned for the rest of your time in Paris, then?” Colin asked. “Maybe we could hang out if you want?

Penelope bit her lip, considering. Of course she  _ wanted  _ to, but. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

He shook his head, smiling playfully. “That wasn’t why I asked. I just thought it would be fun to catch up, while we’re both in the same place.”

She tried not to betray her happiness when she said, “That would be nice.”

“Great. Where are you staying?”

She thought about lying for a moment, but that seemed silly, especially since he might want to walk her back to her hotel after. Penelope carefully hid the embarrassment from her face when she named the fancy hotel, hoping slightly that he didn't recognise it. 

Those hopes were dashed almost instantly. “That’s where I’m staying too,” he said, beaming.

At the sight of that smile, Penelope felt a sudden hopeful pang right in her chest, but she tamped it down immediately. After all, she did have years of practice.

He was too polite to ask the question that was surely on his mind. Although Colin had occasionally needed reminding from his mother to speak to his sister’s least popular friend at parties so she didn't feel left out, he didn’t need anyone to tell him it would be rude to ask her how she could afford to stay at such a fine establishment, even if that would be just what all their mutual acquaintance would be thinking if they knew the truth.

She hadn’t lied to anyone about where she was staying of course. It was just that no one had asked for the details. 

If the subject came up later Penelope supposed she could play it off as the result of years of saving. Colin knew very well that she lived comfortably but modestly, as much as one could in London these days. The furthest she had ever travelled from the capital was to Scotland when she and Eloise, Colin’s sister and her best friend and former roommate, had gone to visit Francesca, another of his sisters. 

But though Penelope had been saving her money carefully since her first copy-editing job after university, those savings weren’t the main source of funds for her birthday trip. No, that came from the jobs that no one knew she had.

She had never intended for her blog to be a secret. She hadn’t thought it would become anything significant enough for its existence to be worthy of the term. It had just begun as a bit of fun, a way to blow off some steam when she grew too frustrated with her mother, whose roof she unfortunately had had to remain under while she was at university, unable to afford to move out. She had kept things vague, neither naming herself or the people in her stories. People had grown to like her tales of home and university life, and it had gone from an outlet to a fun hobby to an important part of her life. She had started to make a little money from it when she graduated from university, but her nine-to-five copy-editing job had been her main income source.

That had all changed six years ago when a reputable magazine had reached out to her, saying they loved the witty observations on her blog and wanted her to write their gossip column.

And so Penelope had become Ms. Whistledown, an anonymous commentator on London’s social elite. She had hoped the column would do well, but she hadn’t expected it to take off the way it had; the day her younger sister Felicity had idly mentioned the latest she had read in Ms. Whistledown’s column in conversation, Penelope was forced to admit she was a success—privately, of course. 

Only two people at the magazine knew that Penelope’s original blog, which she still maintained for her very loyal audience, was run by the same person as Ms. Whistledown and though her editor supported her anonymity in that endeavour she had lately been pushing for Penelope to take on a bigger role at the magazine—one that would require her to come out from behind the curtain.

She had told her friends and family that she’d taken on freelance copy-editing work when she left her regular office job, which was technically true. She sometimes did a bit of work for older clients, but it had been a long time since it had been her main source of income. Her work at the magazine covered most things, while the sponsored posts she did through the blog took care of the rest. Now the magazine wanted her to have a bigger social media presence; she could still go by Ms. Whistledown if she so chose, but they didn’t want her to be a vague shadowy figure anymore. Personal connection was what everyone wanted, her editor told her, and Penelope couldn’t achieve that at the right level if no one knew who she was. 

She still hadn’t quite made her mind up on whether she was going to accept, but Penelope could see their point. 

Personal connection was one of the things that had drawn her to Colin, that way he had of making you feel like you were the only two people in a room. She soon found his magic still worked, even in Paris.

She had been intending to spend her last afternoon in Paris going to the Musée de l'Orangerie and the Musée d'Orsay since they were so close to each other and the weather forecast had said it would rain. However, the sky was still perfectly clear when they reached the 1st arrondissement and even after the long walk they had spent catching up on their lives of late—with a few notable exceptions on Penelope’s side—she was not anywhere near to being tired with Colin’s company. 

Penelope was glad she’d done everything she’d had her heart set on already, or she would really have struggled to make up her mind. Now when Colin asked her what her plans were she could be vague; mentioning the possibility of both museums, but neither as a planned event. However, as Colin expressed an interest in seeing Monet’s  _ Water Lilies _ they went to the Musée de l'Orangerie after all and walked through the gardens afterwards.

“Have you had your fill of culture now?” Colin asked.

“I’m not sure I could,” Penelope said honestly. “But there is a part of me that will be glad to go home.”

“Oh?”

“My feet mainly,” she said, making him laugh. “Though in a few months I’ll probably want to get away somewhere again.”

“And do you think you will?” he asked, gently but there was curiosity there. She didn’t know if it was a possible point of entry into her spending habits or just a friendly question. 

“Not in a few months,” she acknowledged, “but I’m certainly not going to wait another twenty-eight years.”

He nodded, laughing again. “I don’t think I wished you a happy birthday for Thursday yet.”

Penelope blinked, considering. “Were you waiting until you had a message back from Eloise to know the right day?”

“You wound me, Penelope.” Though he did add, after a beat, “These things are online, you know.”

“I suppose. Though you haven’t been online very much lately,” she noted. She wasn’t even thinking of his lack of a birthday message, which he did normally send her via social media, but of his more sporadic posting, and his lack of replies to his family’s posts.

“No, I guess not. I’ve been thinking of a change actually.”

When she looked across at him she realised he looked surprised to have said the words himself and he rubbed a hand across his face.

“You don’t want to be a travel blogger anymore?” she said, unable to keep the shock from her voice as she stopped walking. 

“The constant trips were fun in my twenties,” he admitted. “But I’m thirty-three now and…I still like seeing new places, but…” His soft expression changed and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Can I trust you not to blab to my mum? Or Eloise? Or—“

“I promise I will not say a word to anyone with the name of Bridgerton,” Penelope said seriously. “Or Basset,” she added, and made a little cross sign in front of her heart.

He gave a wry smile. “I guess I miss home more than I thought I would. I mean, Daphne and Anthony have kids who don’t really remember me when I go.”

“They love you!” Penelope insisted. “They’re always so excited when you come to visit.”

“But they don’t think of me in the same way as Benedict or Greg.” 

And though Penelope wanted to comfort him she knew this was true. Their Uncles Benedict and Gregory were a far more regular presence in the children’s lives and though Uncle Colin brought exciting tales of his travels and cool presents, he was never around long enough to be the uncle who babysat them. 

“And you want them to?” she asked gently. 

He shrugged again. “I guess I just want to be around for more. Maybe it’s time to…”

“Settle down?” Penelope suggested.

He smirked. “Like I said, don’t tell my mother.”

She smiled back softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Well...you’re very easy to talk to Penelope. You always have been.”

Penelope hoped her cheeks weren’t flushing. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and began to walk again, thinking perhaps they should go round the garden again since they were nearly at the end and she had barely looked at anything. “What would you do if you moved to London permanently?” she asked.

“I got a book offer,” he admitted.

“That’s amazing!” Penelope said, full of excitement. “I love the way you write about travel, I would love to read a whole book.”

He looked sheepish and perhaps a little shy as he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. “It’s a lot longer than an Instagram caption.”

“I’m sure the increased word count will let your writing shine brighter,” she said easily, softening his look. 

“Maybe you could help me?” he said, as if the idea just came to him.

“Me?” Penelope replied, her voice almost a squeak. 

“Yeah. You know a lot more about writing than I do.”

“I’m fairly certain you’ve never read anything I’ve written,” she said quickly. 

He tilted his head, a searching look on his face. “I meant with your editing experience. Have you been writing as well?”

“Just copy for some clients. Boring website stuff, you know.” 

She felt guilty about the lie though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She was closer to Eloise, who she had lived with for years after university and she’d lied to her all this time to keep her cover. Lying to Colin shouldn’t have felt any different. Perhaps it was because of her old feelings for him; she had always wanted him to really see her, and seeing her would mean seeing even those parts she kept secret from everyone, even if telling him the truth before anyone else made no sense.

Thankfully the lie didn’t hang over her. She thought after their museum visit he might want to go his own way, but instead, he took her to an out of the way café he remembered from a previous visit for dinner. And as they continued their conversation she didn’t feel like she was keeping things from him; she told him about plenty of normal things, like how she found living on her own now that Eloise had moved to Cheltenham, and the new places she had found in London that she thought he might enjoy. She even told him about the parties she attended, some of the strange products she had tried—she just didn’t mention it was a part of her work.

Perhaps it was the two glasses of wine, perhaps it was the pleasure of having Colin Bridgerton’s undivided attention for so many hours. For whatever reason, as they were finishing dinner she said to him, “I got a job offer too.”

“Oh?” he said, brightening.

“Writing for a magazine.”

He congratulated her, mentioning it would make them both writers with one of his famous smiles. “Are you going to take it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I want to, but...It would require some changes.”

“What kind of changes?” he asked, creasing his brows. “Like not working from home anymore?”

It was true that she would have to go to the office more, rather than solely working from home as she did now. But that wasn’t the kind of change that worried her.

“They want me to do Instagram and a lot of that kind of stuff.”

“You have an Instagram.”

She did, though she hardly posted, largely using it to follow her friends and family. “A tiny one. I wouldn’t know how to be an influencer type.”

“If I can figure all that out, I’m sure you can too.”

His smile assured her that it was intended as a compliment but she frowned.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve been successful at all that. You’re very likeable.”

The statement didn’t seem to please him. “Ah, yes,” he said, somewhat brittle. “Likeable Colin Bridgerton.”

“It’s not an insult. Some people might like to be...liked.” This time she was sure it was the wine that made her giggle at her silly statement. 

The annoyance had vanished from his green eyes, replaced with something more thoughtful. “I always thought you didn’t particularly care what people thought of you.”

Penelope was quiet for a long moment. “Sometimes it’s easier to let it seem that way.”

Colin was quiet for a while too, and her eyes had drifted from his sharp gaze to the flame of the candle flickering between them on the table by the time he replied, “Yes. I know what you mean.”

The conversation lightened after that, but Penelope had the sensation that his eyes remained on her longer than before, especially after they left the restaurant and began to wander back the way they had come. 

The high summer weather meant that the sun was only now starting to fade and it cast a warm glow on the Louvre pyramid as they sat on one of the ledges with their ice cream. 

Their chatter began to slow, but Penelope didn’t mind. She was content to just be in Colin’s company on a mild evening in Paris, even if his interested gaze had begun to warm the side of her cheek. She concentrated on her ice cream and their view, smiling when a newly married couple arrived with their photographer to take pictures in front of the landmark, though she was soon laughing when she saw a second wedded couple arrive to do the same.

“What’s so funny?”

She glanced to her side, her cheeks heating when she recalled Colin’s gaze had been on her rather than their scenery. She pointed out the amusing scene. “Do you think they’re going to be in each other’s wedding photos?”

“I think the photographers have got them covered.”

“You haven’t taken many photos today,” she noted.

“Neither have you,” he pointed out. 

She had been during the week, even if she hadn’t been posting them regularly, but Penelope knew she wouldn’t need photos to remember this afternoon. “I just assumed you had to take a lot of shots to get the right one for your Instagram,” she said.

“Usually. But I haven’t thought about it much today,” he said with ease, but the look in his eyes made Penelope feel anything but easy. 

She looked away, back at the careful positioning between the wedding couples and their photographers to avoid each other’s shots. The long-promised rain finally arrived, but in truth, it was more of a drizzle. Penelope barely noticed it. 

“What will you do in Paris tomorrow?” she asked.

“That depends. What time is your train?”

She was sure her cheeks were red now, but she said, a little regretfully, “Early.”

“Are you glad you came?” he asked, the tension in her shoulders eased somewhat.

“Yes, of course.”

“What was your favourite part of Paris?” he asked.

_ This _ , she thought before shaking her head. “The Mona Lisa,” she said.

It wasn’t her real answer—that was far more complicated, to do with the freedom of exploring on her own away from everyone and not something she wanted to get into—she had only picked it because they were sat outside the Louvre. But she was still shocked when he replied, “Didn’t really look at it, to be honest.”

“What?” she exclaimed, turning to face him again. “But you went to the Louvre?”

“Keeping tabs on me, Penelope?” he smirked.

“It was on your Instagram, Colin.”

“I had a schedule to keep, I didn’t have time to join the special queue for it. I saw it from the back of the room,” he said with a shrug. “Didn’t see the fuss.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. “What was your favourite part of Paris then? You’ve been twice before, right?”

“I have,” he said. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it compares with…”

“With what?”

“With right now.”

Penelope flushed. Her throat constricted and she looked away immediately. “Don’t tease me Colin. That’s not—that’s unkind.”

“I’m not,” he said. “We’ve had a good time today, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “No different to any of your usual adventures, I’m sure.”

“No, Penelope,” he said, voice incredibly gentle. “Very different.”

She risked a glance into his eyes and could see he meant it, but her breath caught in her chest and she didn’t know what to say. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he said carefully, as if cautious of her reaction. “I’m going to be back in London soon. Maybe we could spend some more time together...just you and me?”

It was a sentence that should have filled her with joy. It wasn’t like she hadn’t gone on any dates since she had fallen for Colin Bridgerton, but they had never gone anywhere, she had never had a serious relationship. The closest thing she had to a long romance had been her quiet, unacknowledged feelings for Colin. And the suggestion that that might change made her suddenly suspicious. “Why?” she asked, brusque. 

His eyebrows furrowed, his charming smile replaced with a look of confusion. “What do you mean why? Why do you think?”

“That was the last thing you wanted nine years ago,” she said, though she regretted it immediately afterwards. She didn’t want to think about that afternoon when she had heard Colin say in very loud, aggravated tones that he didn't want to date her.

She didn’t begrudge him it. She knew his mother had been nagging him to find someone, and she had been suggesting Penelope since she was fond of her. He probably didn’t even remember it now, but it had been like an arrow to Penelope’s tender nineteen-year-old heart and, since her only confidante had been his sister, she had poured her feelings out in a raw blog post about the heartache of unrequited love. 

She sometimes thought about removing that post, a little embarrassed to have something so personal on display even if the lack of details as to what prompted her post meant no one could trace it back to that particular interaction, but it was one of her most popular, with people finding it even now and telling her that it had comforted them when they were dealing with their own romantic disappointment. 

But though it took him a few seconds, she could see Colin did remember, his face twisting. “I never really apologised for that, did I?”

“Of course you did,” she said, hoping her discomfort was not so very apparent. “You were very apologetic. I know you wouldn’t have said it if you’d known I could hear you.”

“I shouldn't have said it at all. My mother was just—” he ran through his hair in annoyance and sighed.

“Violet can be very persistent.”

“Yes. You know, I wasn’t thinking of becoming serious with anyone back then. Whoever she had suggested I would have—” 

“I know,” Penelope said quickly, hoping to end this line of conversation.

“But I—nine years is a long time. And I meant what I said about wanting to spend more time back home. Maybe putting down some roots.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t look at him. 

“What do you think of that?” he asked, quiet but slightly, maddeningly hopeful

Penelope swallowed. “It would make Violet very happy.”

“ _ Penelope _ .” He sounded fond though, and she did very much want to hear him say her name in just that tone again. “I asked what you think.”

She let out a sigh, her gaze on her knees. “I think…you need to be sure. Today has been wonderful, but in two days you’ll be in another new city and—I’m not saying you’ll change your mind about going home,” she added when she felt his arm move next to hers, thinking he was about to interrupt. “I know you mean that. But tomorrow or the day after you might wake up and think differently about...this.” She didn’t say  _ me _ , but they both knew what she meant.

“Penelope,” he began, a little softer that time, slightly pleading but without conviction.

“I need you to be sure, Colin,” she said, firm.

He was quiet for so long that she dared to to look at him and she could see he was giving due consideration to her words.

Finally, he turned to meet her gaze, an indecipherable look in his green eyes and said, “Alright.” 

“Alright,” she repeated.

The walk back to their hotel was silent at first, but after he pointed out a building he thought she would like the look of, she felt more at ease. They didn’t talk about anything important, but they still felt friendly, which was a relief. 

Despite her early start the next day he insisted on seeing her off in the morning and against her better instincts Penelope found herself agreeing. She still wanted to spend time with him, wanted to stay in this bubble they had created away from all their mutual acquaintances. 

He seemed lighter at breakfast than when they had said goodnight, and the conversation flowed easily between them, but he made no further mention of seeing her when he was next in London. It had been what she expected so she wasn’t crushed and still enjoyed their last few hours together, even though their hug goodbye at the Gare du Nord seemed like an ending somehow.

But when he arrived at her flat two weeks later, with a box of eclairs, it felt like a beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> ETA Jan 2nd: now we're out of the anonymity period you can find me on [tumblr here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/).


End file.
